


Blood and Guts in College

by numbertwelvebakerstreet



Series: And I Urge You: Bite Me [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Biting, Bottoming from the Top, College Student Alana Bloom, College Student Will Graham, Dream Sex, Dry Humping, Elevators, F/M, Floor Sex, Frottage, Frotting, Grinding, Hannigram - Freeform, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Multi, Other, Professor Lecter, Tie Kink, Uni AU, Willana - Freeform, Woman on Top, hot to frot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/numbertwelvebakerstreet/pseuds/numbertwelvebakerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham is an undergrad studying Psychology at Tulane University in New Orleans, in the mid-nineties. Fellow student Alana Bloom and Professor Hannibal Lecter are noticing troublesome changes in Will's behavior, and they each confront him about it in turn. Will is reluctant, but lets them reach out to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let Me In

Professor Lecter’s lips nearly brushed Will’s ear.  
“I would like a private word, if you are not busy,” the professor breathed, just loudly enough to be heard over the din of chatter and chairs squeaking backward at the dismissal of class.  
Will hesitated. His lungs had stopped working as soon as the professor had entered his personal space.  
“Okay,” he managed.  
Alana watched this exchange with concern from where she’d been seated across the lab.  
“What’s up?” she asked Will quietly after crossing the space between them.  
“He wants to talk to me. That’s all he said. I guess I’ll catch up with you later.”  
“Okay.” She had a tight smile and a creased brow.  
Will followed his professor out of the lab.  
“We’ll go to my office,” Lecter said.  
They chatted tersely about Will’s studies, Lecter’s research experiments, each of their plans for summer, until they reached an upstairs office of the Science and Engineering building.  
“Have a seat, Mr. Graham.”  
Lecter shut the door.  
“Is everything okay?” Will asked.  
“That’s what I’d like you to tell me.”  
The professor sat behind his desk.  
“Mr. Graham, I’ve learned of your correspondence with Jack Crawford of the FBI Behavioral Science Unit.”  
“I - I don’t understand. How?”  
“A friend of yours expressed some concern - ”  
“Christ, Alana. That’s all I need.”  
“She’s worried about you, Mr. Graham. As am I.”  
“What’s there to worry about? I’m helping people, I’m getting a career going.”  
“It’s your intention to join the FBI?”  
“I dunno. Maybe. Something in law enforcement.”  
“Mr. Graham, I won’t deny that your abilities as a psychologist, in particular as a criminal psychologist, are extensive - far beyond your years and experience. You are capable of empathizing almost completely with every mind you analyze. My concern is that you are delving too deeply, too early into some of the most abnormal, violent minds this continent has ever produced. This ‘Minnesota Shrike,’ as the papers are calling him - ”  
“Agent Crawford says my insights have been instrumental in helping solve that case.”  
“I will ask that you do not interrupt me again, Mr. Graham. The Shrike, and now this ‘Chesapeake Ripper’ - these are gruesome cases to force yourself to linger on. As I said, I have no doubt that you have the makings of an excellent psychoanalyst. Of course your abilities would prove valuable to a man like Crawford. But he’s young, and new to his post. He doesn’t understand the mental stress he is laying on you by asking you to participate in these investigations. How old are you, Mr. Graham?”  
“I’m a junior.” Will was still stinging from being told, like a child, not to interrupt.  
“I asked your age.”  
“Eighteen.”  
Dr. Lecter took on a gentler tone.  
“As I said, your skills far surpass your years. And you are an adult. You may do what you like. But I do wish you would take my advice, not as a caretaker or even as your professor, but as a friend. Provided you still do me the honor of calling me your friend.”  
Will, who loathed eye contact to begin with, shivered at the intensity with which Lecter now gazed at him.  
Will sighed, then said, “You are my friend.”  
Lecter’s eyes grew more intense. Will didn’t notice. He was concentrating on the veins in his own right hand. But Will felt he should explain himself to some degree.  
“I didn’t tell you, but the morning you found me in here, I . . .”  
Will didn’t know where to begin.  
“You’d been sleepwalking. I presumed that much. You always look exhausted of late,” Lecter said tenderly.  
“I was sleepwalking. But it was my dream - I think I know . . . I think I know why I ended up in your office.”  
“You dreamt about me.”  
“Yes,” Will whispered.  
“You may tell me what happened, if you are not uncomfortable.”  
Will weighed his potential answers for a long time.  
“I’m uncomfortable.”  
Lecter sensed the conversation had reached the limit of its usefulness.  
“Very well. We may move to a new topic. Or you may go, if you wish. Provided you take with you my cautions about Jack Crawford and his work.”  
“I’ll remember. Thanks, professor.”  
Lecter followed Will to the door and did something unexpected. He placed a hand on Will’s shoulder, so that his thumb rested on the side of Will’s neck. Will, in turn, did something he himself did not expect. He shut his eyes and leaned into the touch, comforted by it.  
“You are bright, Mr. Graham, and new, like china. Don’t let Crawford tarnish you before you even begin to take shape. Please, Will. I don’t want you to let him.”

Will undressed tiredly in his dorm room. His mind raced back to his dream, to the way Professor Lecter had pleaded with him moments ago, to how his first name had sounded, rumbling from the man’s bestial throat.  
By the time he’d reached the shower, Will was already throbbing gently. Will tried to focus on shampooing his hair, but his thumb moved to stroke himself while his palm rested inside his crotch.  
“What the hell are you doing?” he whispered, then went through the final motions of showering and dressing with the quick, deliberate efficiency of an assembly-line worker.  
Will attempted now to focus on his assigned chapter on Skinner, but the bird had pecked at its response key four times before Will realized he was reading the same thing over and over. He was almost grateful for the knock at his door.  
“Hey, Will.”  
“Alana.”  
“Will, please don’t be mad. I’m just worried about you, and Professor Lecter agrees.”  
“It’s not your business to be worried about me.”  
Alana was affronted.  
“I’m sorry. I thought we were friends.”  
“Friends.”  
“You didn’t have to talk to me about what was going on with you - the nightmares or the investigations. And I didn’t have to listen. You wanted to reach out to someone, Will. You’re drowning. And I was there for you because I wanted to be. Because, unlike you, I give a shit what happens to you.”  
“I do give a shit.”  
“Then prove it. Let someone help you. Please, Will.”  
Will clung to those words and used them to drag himself closer to the person before him. She put her hand on his neck and he hugged her and kissed her cheek. She looked like black ink, suspended in the form of a woman. She kissed his mouth and viscidly morphed into his nightmare creature - a skeletal, sinewy man with hooves for feet and antlers on his familiar head.  
“Let me in, Will,” the chimera said in two voices at once, and Will obediently undressed and laid down on his bed.  
Will was already dripping pre-come, and he wondered vaguely how long he’d been visibly hard beneath his jeans. The creature didn’t seem to care. It sat on Will and rocked back and forth, every movement slow and fluid, and the air felt like heavy liquid as it moved in and out of Will’s lungs, and Will oozed to completion like a mountain bleeding molten rock.


	2. Motive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal finds Will sleeping in his office in the morning again. Will's having a personal crisis; Hannibal's having none of it. Hannibal helps Will back to his dorm, where they have a friendly game of checkers(lolnotreally)!

When Hannibal arrived at his on-campus office at dawn, he was not surprised to find the young man asleep there for the second time. Hannibal would have been irked to see anyone else occupying his fine, tan leather office chair, but it suited Will. The boy, despite wearing only an open flannel shirt and a worn pair of boxers, looked dignified and pensive, as though he had been caught in careful meditation and not in a deep sleep. Hannibal removed his suit jacket and took the seat opposite his own.  
“Where are we?” he asked gently.  
Will, without waking, without moving, mumbled, “The office.”  
“What are we doing here?”  
“Thinking,” Will sighed.  
“About?”  
“Case.”  
“Crawford’s case.” Hannibal hissed the name out with venom. Sarcastically, he asked, “Any progress?”  
Agent Crawford’s deep voice, staticky over the phone, echoed in Will’s head, “Have you made any progress with those crime scene photographs I mailed you? I’m still not anywhere near establishing a motive here.”  
“Motive,” Will repeated.  
Hannibal, forgetting Crawford’s brief invasion into his moment with Will, leaned forward hungrily and asked, “What motivates us?”  
Will’s fingers minutely stroked the supple arms of Hannibal’s leather chair. He got a flash of the crime scene - a human body mounted on the stag’s head, gently bleeding down into the tall grass of a sunlit meadow. It was artful, indulgent.  
“Beauty,” Will breathed, sharing in the killer’s rapture.  
Hannibal desperately wanted to capture this moment, to keep Will forever resting in Hannibal’s chair, thinking Hannibal’s thoughts, revelling in his work. Hannibal fantasized about giving Will an overdose of anaesthetic and leaving him to his death like sleep. Instead, Hannibal went and shook the boy’s shoulder with a firm but careful hand.  
Will awoke with a gentle huff out of his nostrils. Hannibal’s hand was still on his shoulder.  
“Oh, no,” Will moaned after a glance around. “Why don’t you just start locking the door?”  
“Leaving you to sleep in the hallway?”  
Hannibal grinned. He gave Will’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze with one hand and used the other to check Will’s perspiring forehead. Will unquestioningly rested his head against it.  
“You’re clammy, but not feverish.”  
“I don’t know what’s happening to me.” Will sounded broken.  
Hannibal did not lift either of his hands. Instead, he slid the the one on Will’s forehead back through Will’s damp curls until it cupped the back of his neck. There was no avoiding eye contact with his professor now - Hannibal’s eyes bored into Will’s, and the two’s faces were inches apart. All Will could see or breathe was Professor Lecter.  
“Listen to me, Will. Nothing is happening to you. You are not the victim of some outside force. You are a force within yourself. You have no idea the kind of power you have. The key is in controlling it. You can secure your mental state if you only surround yourself with things that make you feel secure.”  
Will leaned his head back resignedly against Lecter’s grip.  
“That’s easier said than done.”  
“Is it? Will, look me in the eyes.”  
Will’s gaze had begun trying to drift away again, but now it labored back.  
“You are not prey, Will,” Hannibal growled. “You are a hunter. You can overcome this, but you must find a foothold in reality. What’s solid, Will? What’s here?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“Yes, you do. Look at me.”  
Will hadn’t dared break the man’s gaze since his first reprimand, but he understood why Lecter was still asking Will to look at him.  
“You’re here,” Will said.  
“Yes. So trust me.”  
Will wanted to, to cling to Lecter and never let go.  
“What do I do if you’re not here?”  
“I will always be here if you need me. Do you understand?”  
“I’m losing it, professor. I’m not stable. I don’t even want to be around me. Why should you?”  
“Do you know what instability means? Do you know where it leads?”  
“Dead bodies? Federal investigations?”  
“No. Those are incidental. Like a discarded, empty cocoon. What is the caterpillar’s first impetus? What need does he serve?”  
“Evolution?”  
“Evolution into what?”  
“A better survivor.”  
“Good, Will. Very good. You’re absolutely right. You are a survivor, but that’s not all. You are high-minded. What else does he become?”  
The body on the stag’s head flashed before Will’s eyes again.  
“Beautiful.”  
Hannibal sighed in gratification.  
“That is why I want to be around you, Will. That is why I will be around you. Not inspite of you, but because of you. I would as soon be wrenched from my own body as parted from you.”  
Will reached upward and pressed parted lips against Lecter’s, sealing the promise.  
“Which classes do you have today?” Hannibal asked when they finally parted.  
“Dammit . . . um . . . Statistics, Adolescent Development, and Sensation and Perception Lab.”  
Hannibal straightened and helped Will to his feet.  
“I will tell Professors Deschamps, Nguyen, and Flores that you’re ill. They will understand.”  
Will began buttoning down his flannel shirt from the top, and Hannibal helped him along, buttoning from the bottom up. Their hands met at Will’s chest and clasped together momentarily before Hannibal did the final button.  
“Put your arm around my shoulder,” Hannibal said, placing his own arm tightly around Will’s torso.  
“I don’t have a broken leg, Professor.”  
But Will obeyed anyway, accepting any excuse for physical contact.  
“No one should be here this early except for a few custodians, but if we are seen leaving my office together in this state, I’d prefer to be able to sell the idea that you’re not well. Now, where can we find you some clothes? I assume you live on campus, or else your feet would be more tired from your late-night wanderings.”  
They shared a smile.  
“Yeah, just a couple buildings down.”  
They made their way slowly down hallways and elevators and then around the backs of brick buildings outside, encountering no one. Will still moved limply and ailingly, not wanting to get Lecter into trouble but also slightly enjoying being half-carried by the robust older man.  
Alone in the elevator up to Will’s eighth-floor dorm room, Will’s sickly act could naturally subside, but rather than assume a more dignified stature, Will leaned even more heavily into Lecter, now with shameless affection. Will wrapped both arms around his professor’s shoulders and burrowed his face into the man’s solid clavicle. Hannibal exhaled hotly against the side of Will’s face and ran open, jutting lips along the curve of his ear. Will was languid and panting uselessly when the elevator doors opened onto his hallway. He would not have ever moved from his position if Hannibal hadn’t dragged Will’s torso back upward and conveyed him lovingly out of the elevator like a sleepy child.  
“Do you have a key, Will?”  
Will fumbled with the button of his shirt pocket until Hannibal’s fingers took over for him, making quick work of the button and extracting the key.  
“Eight-o-four,” Will said.  
They’d hardly managed to close the door of Will’s room behind them when Will pushed Hannibal’s waist up against it with the youthful strength and energy he’d withheld until now. He moved to place a kiss on Lecter’s neck, but the man recoiled.  
“What is it?” Will asked, stricken.  
“Was someone here last night, Will?”  
Hannibal was only asking to gauge Will’s honesty. He knew the answer. He’d known the instant he’d walked past the threshold and had caught the unwelcoming scent of Gucci Flora.  
But Will didn’t look to Hannibal as though he were gunning for a lie. He just looked confused, and then deeply disturbed. Will slackened his grip on Lecter’s midsection, desperately trying to remember. Hannibal quickly changed course from suspicion to sympathy.  
“Do you remember when you fell asleep?” he tried.  
“I remember . . . ”  
Will caught a strange visual of lying on his back while a man with antlers moved heavily above him.  
“I had a dream.”  
“About what?”  
“I think it was supposed to be . . . you? But you were this creature, too. And you were someone else, someone I know; you were . . . oh, my God.”  
A realization he was afraid to verbalize in front of Hannibal dawned on Will. Hannibal saw this, but pressed him anyway.  
“What is it, Will?”  
Will’s voice was small: “Alana came here yesterday, after I talked to you. I was mad at her for going to you. She was worried about me, she said. And then . . . I don’t remember what happened. I don’t know when I fell asleep, I don’t know what was just a dream and what was real.” Will’s voice was gaining tempo, becoming panicked. Will started to hyperventilate.  
Hannibal pressed Will’s face into his broad chest and made gentle, continuous shushing sounds until Will’s harsh breathing descended into sobbing, which grew gentler as Hannibal stroked Will’s hair and rubbed his back.  
“Remember what I told you, Will. Focus on me. I’m here. I’ll help you.”  
In between his sobs Will began laying kisses across Hannibal’s chest, never fully lifting his head but rather dragging his lips from one spot to the next as though losing any direct physical contact with Hannibal would send Will drifting away into oblivion.  
Will felt a sudden, stabbing compulsion to press himself even further into Lecter, to mash their two bodies together until they merged inseparably into one. Will planted his feet so that his legs straddled Hannibal’s. Then he ground his pelvis upward against Hannibal’s. The men swelled against each other with each frictional movement. They slammed their collective weight repeatedly into the thin wooden door, forcing it to creak in meager resistance.  
Hannibal didn’t want to be interrupted by annoyed, hung-over college students confronting the reason for the disturbance of their morning sleep. So he lowered himself and Will until they were on their knees, and then extended an arm to press Will back onto the wood floor. Will cringed at the amount of cool air between their now perpendicular bodies and tugged at Hannibal’s tie, bringing him down into an aggressive, full-mouthed kiss. Hannibal accepted Will’s tongue with zeal, but as he did so loosened and removed his tie, and, to Will’s surprise, used it to tie Will’s hands tightly together. In spite of himself, Will laughed.  
“Kinkier than I would have expected of you, Professor.”  
Hannibal smiled back.  
“I just need you to keep your hands to yourself a moment, min skat,” he said, planting a gentler kiss on Will’s mouth and then a trail of kisses downward until he reached the elastic waistband of Will’s boxers, which he pulled up and off of Will’s legs. Then Hannibal coasted his lips up Will’s inner thigh until Will’s diaphragm contracted from the tension of having Lecter’s mouth so close to his erection.  
“Are you alright, Will?” Hannibal asked.  
“Yes, yeah, keep going, please,” Will stammered urgently.  
So Hannibal, eyes directed at Will’s face to observe his reactions, ran his tongue lightly along Will’s shaft over and over. Will’s eyelids fluttered shut and his breath came in powerful sighs that vibrated his vocal chords into the occasional groan. Hannibal then engulfed Will between his lips and sucked slowly, back and forth, just a few times before pulling back and straightening up long enough to unfasten and lower his own pants.  
As soon as Lecter was bare from his hips to his knees, Will hooked his bound hands around Lecter’s neck and dragged him downward until their chests and faces met again, and Will hungrily sucked and nipped at Hannibal’s lips and tongue. Hannibal reached downward and pressed his own erection against Will’s. His large hand easily enveloped them both so that Hannibal could slide his length parallel to Will’s with a steady rocking of his hips. As Will neared climax, his mouth grew still, suctioned to Hannibal’s. Hannibal himself had been on the brink since Will had first ground up against him, had been using his singular patience and restraint to hold off until Will was ready. So now Hannibal pumped their aligned shafts quickly and relentlessly until their bodies tensed and froze together and their warm ejaculate ran mingled down his fingers. They both softened, panting, throbbing, and appeased for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for reading and please leave any critiques you can think of in the comments; it's really helpful. Hope you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> I just started my account today, and this is my first fanfic of any kind ever, so I'm pretty damn nervous. Please, please, please leave any constructive criticism you can think of in the comments, especially if you are already a fanfic writer or Hannibal fan. I'm not totally sure yet how I feel about this piece, so I'd love some feedback. If y'all are interested, I might add more chapters. Follow me on tumblr: willymongoo.tumblr.com and thanks for reading!


End file.
